


Baby, You're On A Ball

by Slashy Goodness (allmadhere)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmadhere/pseuds/Slashy%20Goodness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not only had Pete managed to smuggle out every single article of clothing Patrick owned, along with his own, but he had taken his goddamned hats. Apparently, nothing was sacred to Peter Wentz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, You're On A Ball

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Marie's crossdressing festlet.

Patrick was flabbergasted. He couldn't believe Pete sometimes, most times really. He glared into the now empty closet of the bedroom they shared again. Not only had Pete managed to smuggle out every single article of clothing Patrick owned, along with his own, but he had taken his goddamned hats. Apparently, nothing was sacred to Peter Wentz.

Patrick then turned back to the bed and the now open dress box sitting on it. Inside was an outfit that looked better suited for a 50s housewife, or perhaps Greta. He knew he wasn't getting out of this, that Pete had played him better than he played his bass, but it wasn't quite sinking in yet.

He just sighed and stripped off the clothes he'd been wearing for the past two days, wrinkling his nose in disgust, before heading towards the bathroom for a shower. He paused and looked back at the box on the bed, then padded back to snag the razor placed on top. If he was going to do this, why not go all out?

 

"Hey, Pattycakes, I'm home," Pete peered carefully through the front door, on guard for thrown objects or bellowing screams from their room signaling him to take cover. He heard none of that. Instead there was humming in the kitchen. It was Patrick and higher than he would normally hum at but it also sounded fairly non-threatening, which was very good. Pete closed the door behind him and crept into the kitchen.

There, bobbing and cooking at the stove with hip cocked, was what appeared to be Lucy Ball, circa the height of her I Love Lucy fame, and perhaps with less hair and shorter. "Oh, shit," he breathed as the figure turned around, practically beaming at him. Patrick hadn't just put on the only outfit Pete had left him with, no. When Patrick did something, he did it all the way. He'd shaved, everywhere as far as Pete could tell. He'd done his hair, probably finding Pete's flat-iron and curling it until he came as close to Lucille Ball's as he could get it then pinning it back with the white bow. He'd plucked his eyebrows and put on blush, eye shadow, eyeliner, lipstick... Everything. Just where he'd learned to do such things was anyone's guess, but Pete would put his money on either the internet or one of the few women of the Decaydance bands. There had to be crinolines or something supporting that skirt of his and Pete's mind couldn't seem to recall if he'd included them.

"Language, honey!" The voice was pitched higher and musical, like his falsetto, but sustained. Patrick bustled around the counter, kissing Pete and standing on slight tip-toe with a single foot popped into the air. He smiled again as his heels hit the floor with a clack. "If you're good all through dinner, I might slip into something more comfortable." The smile morphed into a smirk that would have made Pete jealous if he didn't have more urgent matters to worry over, like the increasing lack of room in his already tight jeans and Patrick in drag smirking at him in the hottest way possible. "Oh and one more thing, love," Patrick added, drawing close with red painted lips brushing at Pete's ear, "if you don't have all my clothes, hats included, back in our room by the time we get up there, you're sleeping on the fucking couch with nothing but your damned hand for a week."

Pete tried to respond, really he did. Even a 'yes, ma'am' would have sufficed him and, really, that was all he needed to say. But all he could do was gape like a fish as Patrick stood back, beaming again and bouncing on his toes. Pete's jaw fell open as he bustled back to the stove, humming again. "You might want to get moving, dear, dinner will be ready in 10!" Pete practically broke his ankle tripping over Hemmy in his mad rush to drag everything back inside from the trunk of his car, but it was well worth it.


End file.
